Bree-Town,  midnight.

The cloud of black was lifted from her eyes as she groaned and rubbed her forehead, a terrible headache pumping pain into her skull as she remembered what had happened last night. She had been out drinking with a woman called "Sefa", and after spotting her sister, persuaded her to join the fun until they all had enough.

Page: 53

Dear Diary

Page fifty three already? I think i'm writing to you everyday, you deserve it.

My morning began with me waking up, my hands could feel asoft body, smiling knowing it was my darlin, Jane.

After the breakfast Jane wanted to head to town and prepare for the upcoming event that her, and the rest of the girls, are holding and I asked to be her company as I too have things to do in town.

"...Well, then, if I'm gonna squeeze your hand, you're gonna have to take your weapons off." Boen stated. The Pony was empty and Umbaindes was rather talking to her companion, Boen, a sly and cheeky fellow who often made remarks about her and her fellow tomb-raiding companions.
Why are they in the Pony, you ask? Well, Umbaindes had just come to search for her companion Furlaf, her Second-in-Command in the band, and so far, her attempts at uncovering his whereabouts were in vain. They had to spend the night in the Pony, much to Umbaindes' chagrin.

((This letter is in untidy scrawl, but is legible.))

Dear Miss Cymaru,

I'm writing to let you know that my big sister Bethlan won't be able to work for the next week. She passed out in the kitchen on her shift yesterday. A kind patron took her to a bed and had a healer check her out. Seems she has a fever. Hope it won't be too serious.. our dear mum passed from one.

I'm currently at Bethlan's house looking after her. Please give Barliman our thanks for his help. Hopefully you won't be too short of staff.

Kind regards,

Jedley Thorne (Bethlan's brother).

It is only just turning dark, the stars coming out overhead like tiny diamonds scattered across an ultramarine blue sky and a gust of chill wind blows across the cobblestones of the courtyard. Standing in the courtyard, Dierra regards the rearing white horse signboard that signalizes her arrival at the Prancing Pony Inn. With her backpack slung loosely over her shoulder, she holds one strap, her horses reins held in her other hand, a mixed expression of of tiredness, relief and expectation on her face. A hobbit approaches, smiling broadly and smelling of horse manure.

Please see http://laurelinarchives.org/node/4171 before you read